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Poems of the day February 3, 1998 Another bloody haiku Blossoms linger on my tongue Fresh upon my lips My mouth is so empty now
Albuquerque, 3 February, 1998
Copyright (c) 1998 Marion Francis O’Shaughnessy

February 4, 1998 Reflections from the Holy See Such a faithful posture A tender kiss I am no pontiff Nor is my ring A badge of office What is this heresy But faith I am faithful too I am moved to tears And ultimately Laughter Albuquerque, 3 February, 1998
Copyright (c) 1998 Marion Francis O’Shaughnessy

February 5, 1998 12 St. & I-40 I step out of the sun And Feel February on my toes Just past the tracks Can I pass the tracks? Back and forth I look Mountains to the right Mesa to the left Yet this tree bears fruit Even in February And the fruit Bares succulent flesh And Juice to soak my beard And Intoxicate my vision Knowing the volcanoes Will not erupt But the earth will move Foundations will crumble Boundaries cease to exist And we live where we will We will live here Albuquerque, 4 February, 1998
Copyright (c) 1998 Marion Francis O'Shaughnessy

February 20, 1998 Commencement Fly with me, my sister, To the mountains where we were born, Through the ravines and canyons Where we learned to soar so long ago. Dine with me, my sister, Upon the banquet of flesh that is our reward, Our treasure from exploring Where we were not sanctioned to delve. Sleep with me, my sister, In this bed of our own investment; Where great fruit trees grow and blossom In defiance of history. Wake with me, my sister, With the moon; In your white petticoat And all the accouterments of your sovereignty Where I find my such exultation. Dwell with me, my sister, In this ancient naked grotto Where creation has surprised us And Apocolypse will never come.

Albuquerque, 20 February, 1998
Copyright (c) 1998 Marion Francis O’Shaughnessy

March 1, 1997 She-Walks-With-Serpents She-Walks-With-Serpents lives with me In my heart where it is hardest. She walks with me on broken concrete On Roma Street littered with airline-sized Iniquity strewn on pocked pavement; With me, full of green chili, onions and pinto beans, Both our bellies filled And necks prickling with sweat. We trod together across Route 66 Against the light and into the mountain. She speaks to me; She reminds me I have a cunt also.
Albuqerque, 1 March, 1997
Copyright 1997 Marion Francis O’Shaughnessy

March 3. 1998 We like to go mountain climbing together On lovely Spring mornings with the sun Warming our backs and cheering the birds That greet us. Together we seek handholds And loopholes that many would never find, Indeed few have ever found, and discover ways To climb higher than we have ever been before. We find a ledge, more or less stable, More or less flat, the rock there cool And naked as we seek to be. And there We spread our lunch and shed our clothes. I feast between her generous thighs And her kisses fortify me for the arduous climb That lies ahead. We share bits of savory bread And shards of our lives in other’s arms And in the bosom of the place we have made In the desert. We finish with white wine And exotic fruits known only to such elevations Where each and every breath is less important Than the knowledge that for us the climb Will always be waiting. Naked we will ascend, Never to cover ourselves and return.

Albuquerque, 3 March, 1998
Copyright (c) 1998 Marion Francis O’Shaughnessy

March 7, 1998 Renascence I greet my first Spring in Albuquerque naked But for my jewelry, functional and informative, Tasting the wind from the mesa carrying Tumbleweeds the size of Volkswagens. The wind on my flesh is alien yet promising A wantonness that is fulfilled with each passing hour, With each lingering kiss. The gentle rain May not drench or chill me but it draws me Out of the past and into the moment where All the moments are. The lightning Brings no illumination for the future Nor does the thunder move me at all But these dual heralds bid me to speak Words that do not fail.
Albuquerque, 6 March, 1998
Copyright (c) 1998 Marion Francis O’Shaughnessy

March 11, 1998 A sunny morning in Albuquerque: I lie in bed with Monet (or is it Matisse?) And the lingering indulgent softness of your thighs Upon my cheeks. My lips still craving The languid juiciness of your flesh, I open my eyes at the end of a long Delicious fast, feeling the buds on the cottonwoods Yearning to burst free from their own slumber And speak to us both in timbres I recognize so well from before my birth. I find the place in the image Where your eyes resolve themselves Into points of color and I wonder Do you dream of me also? Albuquerque, 11 March, 1998
Copyright (c) 1998 Marion Francis O’Shaughnessy

March 12, 1998 Chrysalis I met her as she emerged Naked, Still wet and gleaming From the lubricant of her transformation, Her wings Pale and splendid, Her teeth Sharp but untested, Her heart Renewed and lovely. I could barely find my knees In time To pay homage. I would feast of her loveliness, licking clean Her transformative sheen To reveal the revelation And to revel with her Under an invisible new moon. Soon would her inquisitiveness Add to her growing stature And strengthen her new wings As well as my own Enthralled heart while The red sunsets paint the mountains, The moon waxes to full And I walked naked to my mailbox.
Albuquerque, 11 March 1998
Copyright (c) 1998 Marion Francis O’Shaughnessy

March 14, 1998 Opus in Connecticut Wrapper From the smoldering compost Of a poignant backyard, even with Dead leaves and dog shit, Watching from my steps where I sit With my legs too far apart For the sake of law and order, She-who-walks-with-serpents speaks anew And I can listen or not As I choose. I choose Because I must and I listen Because I will though I would Fertilize this decay seeking life With desperate ejaculation Though my seed might seem destitute To some. To me it is filled With pigment so sublime and color So fertile that stones Must take root and bloom. Albuquerque, 12 March 1998
Copyright (c) 1998 Marion Francis O’Shaughnessy

March 16, 1998 Snow and Tourquoise I remember a sky The color of piss But I do not recall Why I stayed. Ultimately I would flee for the health of my soul, Leap from the abyss On to the cliff Where tiny planetary permutations Might bring comfort to my enemies But who cares? I am emancipated, Ameliorated, Drowning in the shining golden sun, Awash in the azure firmament, Swimming with preeminence And fucking beneath the stars. You may climb my stairs And look up my skirt For that gleaming chime That first begs only a kiss but Soon demands commitment To ecstasy. To ecstasy! Into ecstasy will I plunge The purest knell, clean and ringing, A spire too frank to be borne, A pang too enticing to be relinquished. Albuquerque, 12 March 1998 Copyright (c) 1998 Marion Francis O'Shaughnessy

March 28, 1998 Grass Stains Under a sun that blazes despite All the clichés, I am reading Words that are strange and comforting In their familiarity. I’m listening To new music and oblivious to the sounds Of artifice, those rancid farts displayed So gently and cruelly in the park Where I come to tell the truth. Here it is --It’s just fucking and Living here inhaling the musk Of liberation through submission To the brilliant answers of the mesa To incisive questions asked By the mountains. I will live here Heeding the rift but paying No attention to the lies Of meaning that the invaders tell because I can’t hear them anyway.
Albuquerque, 28 March 1998 Copyright (c) 1998 Marion Francis O’Shaughnessy

June 19, 1998 Such a gentle and sweet Orchard-plucked fuck I find upon my plate now.

Albuquerque, 19 June, 1998

July 7, 1998 There are good luck-pixies Living In my beard, Naked, Minuscule, Significant, Nesting in the follicles Waiting for that drop of honey Dripping from Jemez fry-bread, To smear their naked pixie bodies With sweet juices Unknown to the world of conventional fruit Found where only I find it. I will feed them at all costs Indeed I will lick your fingers too To nourish them And myself; They are such wicked Good-luck pixies.
Copyright (c) 1998 Marion Francis O’Shaughnessy
Albuquerque, 6 July, 1998

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